


Two's Only Fear

by LeeMorrigan



Category: 6 Underground (2019)
Genre: Amelia and Blaine are a Thing, Camille and Amelia are friends, Camille has a tender side, Camille loves Javier, Camille will protect her team, Camille's father was a dangerous spy, F/M, Five and Two are friends, Five is the Mom Friend, He trained her well, Javier loves Camille, Javier takes care of Camille, One swears, Other, Team Bonding, and now he's back, rough childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24879964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMorrigan/pseuds/LeeMorrigan
Summary: On a mission to rescue a kidnapped teenager from an arms dealer with nefarious plans, Camille comes face to face with her old life. Her father, a legendary agent for French Intelligence, sees a ghost while on his own mission to intercept an arms dealer at a fancy hotel in Paris. In the wake of this chance meeting, Camille recalls how she came to be such a insanely good spy and assassin and Agent Robicheaux seeks to find why his dead daughter is rescuing Canadian kids in Paris.
Relationships: Five | Amelia/Seven | Blaine, One (6 Underground) & Two | Camille (6 Underground), Seven | Blaine & Three | Javier, Three | Javier/Two | Camille (6 Underground), Two | Camille & Agent Etienne Robicheaux
Kudos: 9





	1. Seeing Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I do not speak French or Spanish, so I apologize if I get any of it wrong. I have to hit up Bing Translate to get the French and Spanish dialogue. This takes place over a year after the close of the movie.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: For the whole fic there is how Javier|Three doesn't deal well with flying and we will learn Camille had a personal tragedy from a flight years ago, in this chapter there is a fight scene that includes a throat punch with a handbag, discussion of a woman traveling alone being a bit paranoid, kidnapping, and talk of arms dealers/warlords. There is some minor swearing (mostly One) and hints of nightmares/PTSD causing some issues with relationships.
> 
> In future chapters- flashbacks will show how Camille was training to be a living weapon since she was very young, and her father having her train against adults who had orders not to hold back just cause Camille was a teenager. He does love her, he's just got a craptastic way of showing it.

One rapped his knuckles across the tabletop, drawing the other five members’ attention as he held up the new file. This would be their sixth mission, not-counting the mini-mission to get the eyeball in Rome, or another mini-mission One had taken with Seven and Three to steal a small submarine they needed.

“Alright ladies, and Four, here’s our next target. Memorize his face better than you knew your own mother’s, alright. He’s a kidnap victim so our window for grabbing him up will be very small. Tiny. Minuscule.”

Two threw a pink eraser at him.

“Why was he kidnapped? And why do we care?”, Four asked.

“Damn, doesn’t anyone read the file before they come in here?”, One groused.

Two looked bored, while Four and Three both acted so innocent it was clear neither of them ever read shit before they came in. Five and Seven both pointed to where they had each made notes in their respective copies of the file.

“Oh good, two over-achievers and Two, who probably memorized the damn thing.”

She shot him a cold, smug smile. The woman still creeped him out.

“Alright, Tarek Assaud, Canadian citizen through his mother and American by virtue of being born in a New York City hospital about an hour after his mother got off the plane from this lovely little country right here.”, he gestured to a bright red boundary line on an otherwise black and white map.

“Tiny country, no one outside the African continent, has ever heard of. It’s one of those questions on JEOPARDY designed to make everyone lose that round. Anywho, Tarek’s biological father is a warlord, war monger, whatever you wanna call it. Bad guy. Killer. Horrible fashion sense. He put a bun in Amanda Assaud’s easy-bake and she delivered it in New York nine months later, having fled when she was nearly killed by one of his rivals. She returned to Canada, married an architect and raised little Tarek, until he went off to Paris for his PhD studies. He wants to be a physicist. Two days ago, coming out of a class, three men in nice suits scooped him up, knocked him out with a tranq dart, and now this man,” he stopped to show a picture of a blond, tall man, “a British citizen named Nigel, has Tarek and is auctioning him off to rivals of Tarek’s father, each of them having ideas of ransoming him to his papa, trying to hold the Canadian government over a barrel, or just killing the kid and delivering his head to daddy all gift wrapped in a blue bow.”

Two rolled her eyes as she let out a long sigh.

“We’re going to scoop up Tarek on the eave of this auction, and spirit him back to Canada. Bonus points if we kill some bad guys involved. We also need to look into dismantling things with Nigel, or he may just go after Tarek again – or do something similarly dastardly.”

Everyone continued with the meeting, occasionally asking a question here and there, with One answering with his usual snark. Two enjoyed, to a degree, watching the team interacting over a battle plan at the big table in the common room. The War Room, as One and Four enjoyed calling it. She had already memorized the file before she came to the meeting, so she did not need to do much except listen for anyone asking for her input.

“Alright, so two days from now, we’ll be wheels down in Paris, to scout and recon, before we scoop up young Assaud, in order to bring him back to his mommy. Good plan. Get some sleep.”

Their leader walked off, Four shrugging and heading off to his trailer without another word. Seven moved closer to where Five had been seated the whole meeting, his one finger trailing over the bare skin of her shoulder in her tank top. The two exchanged a look, then smiled. Camille knew what was going on there – a blossoming romance.

Once their other teammates had all left, Two turned to watch Three. He was smiling at her, a dopey, happy look to him. It still struck her how wrong it was for a former hitman to be so remarkably adorable. Or for an assassin like her to love that about him.

“Wanna go for a walk?”, she asked, mostly intending to just get out of the stifling humid trailer.

“Sure.”, he said before getting up and offering his hand.

Before coming to join this team, she hadn’t had anyone ever offer her their hand. Her father had been tough, unyielding, and completely averse to showing any tenderness or sweetness towards Camille. He wished to ensure she was tough enough to handle her own life and not need her daddy to come rescue her from every little bump in the road.

The men, and women, she had worked with had been much the same as her. Tough, cold, disciplined, untouchable. Some found relief in a quick tryst with a coworker, boss, informant, or some random person at a hotel they stayed in during a stakeout. Others turned to cigarettes, booze, or worse. One, she remembered, had a gambling habit when he was away from work and it cost him an otherwise stable marriage.

Then she met Three. He was affectionate, sweet, kind, attentive, open, and patient with her. Everything her father, former lovers, and work-partners had never been. It had been a tidal wave to her. Scary, unfamiliar, and powerful – so she had avoided it for a while, then tried to convince herself, and Javier to a lesser degree, that it was Just Sex. No feelings.

Javier had waited her out, never more than a shout away. Even then, the tender way he held her hand in his larger one, was enough to shake her. It was such a little thing to him. He reached and held her hand because he wanted to. For her, it was a public display, opening himself up for a potential attack from her. There was no tactical advantage for him in holding her non-dominant hand, he did it because he wanted to.

“Where are you?”

She looked up, narrowing her eyes a him for a moment. He smiled a small, amused grin.

“You looked a 1,000 miles away.”

She shrugged her right shoulder.

“The mission and some plans. Nothing major. I ought to be thinking about how great that dinner you cooked, was.”

He beamed. Possibly even glowed. The man was very proud of his skills in the kitchen.

“You’re allowed to plan on a full stomach. Plan better that way.”

She smiled up at him. Sometimes she was convinced that she would never fully comprehend how someone as… cuddly, as Javier was, could ever have been recruited for violent work. Then they would get into an argument like when he didn’t understand Coup d’état and got frustrated with her and she had still been trying to convince herself that she didn’t care about Javier.

In truth, she sometimes thought he might have been one of the smartest people she knew. He might not have been the tech genius One was or the tactician Blaine was. He picked up conversational amounts of languages with seemingly very little effort, he could read people faster than anyone she had known in her adult life, he always seemed to know when to give people space or just to be close enough that they didn’t feel alone, and she swore he remembered everything- how she took her coffee, where the scar on Amelia’s wrist came from, what had been on Billy’s 15th birthday cake, how Blaine preferred his shooting next, or even One’s preferred brand of noodles for pasta.

She felt Javier gently tugging on her hand a little. Looking, she found him looking over at her as they headed back to his trailer.

“You were gone again, carino.”

She shook her head, as if that would dispel her current thoughtful mood.

“Sorry. I think I’m getting domesticated.”

He stopped, looking at her in concern and not a little confusion. Camille could tell he was worried he had overstepped or somehow done something wrong. She was aware he had more trouble reading her than he did with most people. Even she had trouble reading herself.

“Is this because you’ve been staying over more?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve just been… Despite what One says, this team, we matter to each other. We’ve become emotionally attached and invested in one another. Amelia and Blaine definitely seem pretty invested in each other, even if they haven’t quite figured it out yet. We all think of Billy like a kid brother, One is that annoying elder brother we all hated if we had one before. I haven’t…. I haven’t had that in a long time.”

Javier smiled softly at her.

“It is good to have, no?”

She just couldn’t stop smiling with him.

“It is. Scary, but good.”

“Why scary? None of us would hurt you, carino.”

Camille nodded.

“I know that. But I could lose any of you. We lost Six straight out of the gate. Nearly lost Four, One, Five, and… you… on a couple of occasions. It hurt a lot less nearly-losing someone when I was with the CIA, cause we didn’t matter to each other outside of forfilling a function on the team. We lost our informant, we were set back and would need to go find and turn another one. We lost a sniper, then we would have to wait till another could be assigned to us. If one of us has a close call…”, she trailed off, not needing to explain any further to Javier.

Javier reached with his free hand, tugging her close to his chest. Camille let him tuck her into him, his arms wrapping securely around her without squeezing her. If pressed or tortured, she would claim she was doing this because it was easier than fighting him. In truth, she loved the feeling of being cherished and cared for that Javier so warmly offered her.

“I’m getting soft.”

She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. Javier pressed a kiss to the top of her head as if to stifle his chuckle.

“Don’t worry, it will be our secret.”

“Good. Cause I know all your weak spots.”

Javier smiled. He would never tell her, waiting for her to figure it out. She was his weak spot. He would have done anything for her, all she had to do was ask.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Situated in their respective stations, everyone awaited the signal. They were in a glittering hotel in Paris. Hardly the place most civilians would think arms dealers would handle kidnapping victims to hand them off to their buyers. Camille knew better. The nicer the box, the uglier the contents.

The plan was simple. Nigel Haslow’s three goons would take Tarek Assaud across the back lobby where a car would be waiting. The car would have whichever one of three different clients Nigel had opted to sell Tarek to. One was a warlord in direct opposition to Tarek’s biological father, the second was some sort of military leader from the same area who meant to use Tarek as a bargaining chip against Tarek’s father, and the third was a schmuck of a villain who wanted Tarek’s father to have to work with him.

One and Four were up high, pretending to be a couple art dealers and with Four’s knowledge of such expensive stuff, no one was having trouble believing their cover. They had to be ready for when the team stole Tarek. Amelia was in the main lobby, keeping track of security and with a canister of laughing gas at the ready, a mask in her carry-on style bag at her ankle while she pretended to read a guidebook as she played the part of lone-tourist.

Seven was stationed next door, in a hotel balcony. He was going to let them know which of the three won the prize so they knew who they were dealing with. Three and Two were pretending to be a couple at the little private bar area that had a perfect view of the lobby Tarek would be dragged through shortly. Their job was to keep an eye and let One and Four know when to step in and Five to back them up, as Two covered Three and Three would be primarily in charge of getting Tarek away from the three goons.

Once they had Tarek, Three and Two were supposed to get him to a waiting car. Four and One would be in another car, following them to keep them covered. Five would walk out the front door, call the valet but end up having Seven come get her with a wink like she was getting picked up by a good-looking stranger. They would all rendezvous at a tour boat that would take them around to the hotel they would walk through and hand off Tarek to One and Seven, Two and Five walking off with some of the gear, and Three and Four heading off a different way with the rest of the gear, only for One to fly them out with a course to Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Simple.

As Two sat in her fashionable jumpsuit and heels, sipping a flute of something delicious, she watched. Three was mostly sitting with his back to the room, using the mirror behind the bar to keep track of things. The two of them spoke in hushed tones, Three’s hand occasionally straying to run a finger over her knee to draw nonsense patterns. They looked a wealthy, long-term couple.

Two was about to let One know she had seen Tarek with the three goons, which had somehow become five goons instead of the three they had expected, when she spotted trouble. Agent Etienne Robicheaux, French Intelligence.

“One, we’ve got a wrinkle.”

“Oh, you mean the two extra guys on Tarek, or the four goons with guns out back that we didn’t count on?”

“French Intelligence is here, and one of their best operatives is in the lobby, heading towards the hand-off.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”, she deadpanned as she watched Agent Robicheaux.

“Three?”, she whispered.

He leaned in, still keeping the movement to look as if he intended to whisper sweet nothings.

“The guy in the nice gray suit, looks like he’s in his late 50s?”

He nodded subtly.

“I’ll need to avoid him. He knows my face.”

Three nodded, pretending to kiss her neck and also effectively shielding her from the view.

“Do we need to switch? I knocked out the guards, you take Tarek?”

They heard Four cutting in on the comm.

“I can handle the French spook.”

One rearranged.

“Four, you’ve got Agent Spooky. Two- you’ve got the goons with Tarek. Three- you get Tarek. Seven, you’ve got the four extra armed goons in back, do what you can with the cars. Five, be ready to pull a fire alarm. I’m coming down to help keep Nigel’s reinforcements from getting where we don’t want’em.”

Everyone, knowing the new plan, began moving. Two and Three walked, her hand in the crook of his elbow, towards the back entrance of the hotel while she could clock Four heading down towards Agent Robicheaux- who had two other obvious agents next to him that Four would likely have spotted by now. Five got her bag and moved closer to where the phones and fire alarm were, her book still in hand as if she were still perusing it. Two couldn’t find One or Seven, nor did she expect to.

When she and Three got too close for comfort, the goons started pushing back, most having British accents as they groused at the drunk couple for getting in their way. Three stepped in the way, allowing him to get closer to Tarek. Two realized the kid looked scared out of his mind. She stepped over to the side, as if trying to see around her husband until one of the men laid a hand on Three.

Two stepped on the goon’s instep with her chunky high heel, backhanding him across the neck, then stepping forward to throat-punch a second goons with her solid handbag. Three got Tarek’s forearms and yanked the kid forward, then punched the third goon to get him to back off Tarek.

“What are you?”, the kid shouted.

“Here to rescue you. Come! Run!”, Three ordered as Two took the feet out from under a fourth goon, then spun backward to elbow the fifth goon in the abdomen before grabbing his head and pulling it down as she brought her knee up. He dropped like a weight. The first goon moved on the ground, going for his gun. Two kicked him in the face hard enough to do a footballer proud.

“Camille?”

She froze for a fraction of a second. She did not turn. She didn’t need to. That voice had haunted her nightmares nearly all her life and second-guessed her every move in the field since she was put to work as a top assassin and spook.

She heard Four tackle the man as she walked away, heading towards where she knew Three was waiting for her, with Tarek in the boot of the car with a blanket over him that would keep him from showing up on heat-sensors and most X-ray scans. One left little to chance.

Sure enough, Three was waiting in the driver’s seat of a sleek black car, a worried expression on his face. Two shot him a smile that, if anyone else saw it, would read as a simple, polite greeting one might offer their spouse at a distance. Three knew it meant they were good to go once she got in the car and he went ahead and slipped it into gear. Two hopped in, shooting him a smile.

“Let’s roll.”

He drove off, careful to keep to the posted speed as they moved, ensuring he brought no unwanted attention to their car. Not for the first time, Camille caught herself watching his hands on the steering wheel and the gearshift. He actually knew how to drive a manual so well that it was smooth as an automatic transmission. Granted, he had told her that in Mexico it was not so uncommon as it was in France and England, for people to know how to drive stick.

“Want to talk about how you knew that Spook? He one of the agents who trained you and that’s why he’d know your face?”

She shrugged.

“Something like that. Tell you later.”

He nodded. Both of them knew they needed to keep quiet so they could hear their comms, in case One had to change the plan again. They didn’t have to wait long.

“Tarek out, Seven and Five are en route to the rendezvous, Four stole a bike and is shadowing them, and I’ll be right behind you all in the car.”

“See you then, boss.”, Four teased over the radio.

Two shook her head with a bemused smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tarek was sound asleep in the back, with Amelia having checked on him every few minutes as if he really were a kid. Camille couldn’t fault her. He was only 22, yet he looked 16 or 17 at best with fuller cheeks and wide dark eyes, and he had been so spooked when they arrived at the hanger. And, Amelia hadn’t become a doctor cause she hated people and could walk away from sad puppies.

Blaine and Billy were also asleep in the chairs back with Tarek, with Billy having shoved his jacket into the corner between the wall and his chair, and gone straight to sleep. He always did that when they were on planes. Blaine had just nodded off since they had leveled out in the air.

Camille watched her team. Amelia, once she had checked on Tarek for the umpteenth time, finally settled back into her seat across from Billy. Blaine kept his gun across from him- Camille supposed keeping track of his gear that way was ingrained habit.

Three still hated flying, and was all jittery in his seat with his back to the cockpit and Camille sitting in the seat across the isle, facing Javier and her back to the cabin. No matter how much she tried to tell him to just look at her, to just breathe like she did, to just focus on anything except his fear of flying. It never worked.

“Javier, I could give you a tranquilizer?”, Amelia offered from her seat.

“Just do what Camille says.”, Blaine groused.

Camille didn’t bother listening to the argument and moved up into the cockpit. Sooner or later, One would demand she tell him about Agent Robicheaux and she would just assume get it overwith. And in private.

Stepping into the cockpit, she took up the co-pilot seat without a word. One was aware, in a pinch, Camille could fly and had once had a pilot’s license for small planes. It had been one of the few things she ever did for herself and not because the job required it. Or her father.

“I assume you’re up here to tell me about Agent Robicheaux.”

She nodded.

“Your father.”

She nodded. One had all their files. Knew intimate details of their lives before they became ghosts.

“He see you?

“Yes.”

“Recognize you?”

“Yes.”

One let loose with a cursing streak.

“I already erased the footage on all the security cameras in the area and even sent out a localized virus, of sorts, to take care of cell phone footage and anything uploaded to the cloud. He won’t have any photos of you or other proof you were there. I’ve erased all our files and replaced them with bogus finger prints, DNA scans, facial rec, and otherwise fixed it so no one could prove it was Camille Robicheaux who had been to any of the places we’ve been cause nothing about you now would match any records of who you were.”

“I know.”

“But your own father claiming he saw you, in the field, doing something that would have been right up your alley to do… that’ll hold more weight than if an ex-boyfriend thought he saw you in a restaurant in Paris.”

“No it won’t.”

“Explain.”

“They’ll say he’s emotionally compromised. Chasing ghosts. He didn’t fully believe I died when you killed me off, One. Everyone will think the grieving father and widower, finally cracked.”

“So everyone will write him off?”

“Everyone who counts.”

One nodded.

“Do you think he’ll try to find you?”

“Possibly. He rather liked the Heroic Dead medal he got when I died, in recognition for my service, so he won’t want to risk losing that because he brings into question if I really died. He also won’t want those higher ups to think he’s cracked- he’s at that age where he could easily get retired from service whether he wants to be or not. This will be all back channels, secret whisper kind of searching. Nothing too loud, nothing too obvious. He knows how I work, so he’ll know what to look for to find me. Except I don’t make our plans, so I won’t pop up for him the way I would if I were in charge of this team.”

“In other words, he has profiled you and knows what brand of liquer you buy, hotels you prefer, and where you shop- but since I buy the drinks, pick the hotels, and grab most of our gear, I won’t be a ping on his radar?”

“Yes.”

“This mean I don’t need to worry too much about Etienne Robicheaux becoming a problem?”

“Unless he keeps tracking Tarek.”

One nodded.

“Great. Guess we’ll have to be a little stealthier about how we handle getting him back to his mom and his uncle.”

“I’d offer suggestions, but Robicheaux knows all my plays.”

“True. Seven and I can go over it when we touch down.”

Camille nodded, then got up and headed back to her former seat. Javier was still fidgeting, Billy was still sleeping as was Tarek, and Blaine seemed to be contentedly watching Amelia as she did puzzles in a paper book she had picked up somewhere. All was well with her team.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had touched down hours later in Pittsburg and moved out. Amelia, One, and Blaine had Tarek and were heading to a suite at a local hotel so One could stay in a room with Tarek with Blaine and Amelia on the other side of a wall. Billy went with Camille and Javier to check in, staying in three rooms that allowed them to ensure no one could get to Tarek without a fight.

Camille had barely gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock at her door. She swore under her breath as she shoved the hotel robe on over her damp towel. If Three had come over when he was supposed to be bunking solo on the other end of the hall, she was going to break two of his bones.

Checking with a mirror in the peep hole, she saw a hotel bellhop. She waited a beat and sure enough, he felt the need to knock and identify himself and his purpose again.

“Ma’am, it’s Nick from room service. I’ve got your dinner you ordered.”

She hadn’t ordered room service. Never did. It was one more place her voice might get recorded, one more opportunity for someone to get inside, one more chance to get poisoned, bugged, or drugged.

Carefully, Two tucked her gun so it wasn’t easy to see as she cracked the door open, leaving the nearly-worthless chain in place. She knew the little rubber wedges she had tucked into place would do more to keep the door from getting slammed back against her and allow someone inside.

Outside, Nick stood. He had braces and looked like a tall 12-year-old. Then again, most innocent civilians looked like kids to her until they were over 40. He had the hotel’s uniform of a red vest over a white shirt, black tie and slacks, shined black shoes, and an ill-fitting red jacket. His cart held enough for her to guess a salad, main course, tea, water, and dessert.

“I had forgotten I ordered.”, she said with a polite smile.

“That’s alright, ma’am. Jet lag can be a real memory killer. Do you want me to bring it in, or leave it out here?”

She arched an eyebrow in question. He smiled a bit nervously, then leaned a bit to speak quietly.

“Some lone female guests prefer we don’t come into their room and ask us, especially the male staff, to just leave the cart. Manager knows and doesn’t get mad about it.”

She nodded. Carefully, she reached into the jacket she left by the door and pulled out a little cash, holding it out to him so he would have to do most of the reaching to get it.

“Leave the cart, please?”

He nodded, taking the tip and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

“Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your dinner. Just call service at the front desk when you want the cart picked up.”

She nodded, then waited till he was in the elevator and gone for ten seconds, before she chanced coming out. She checked the hall, then tugged the cart back into her room and locked her door. Two was going to go over this cart with a fine toothed comb. At least she was, before her phone rang. Her team phone with the number 5 flashing as the caller ID.

“What’s wrong?”, she asked as she flipped the phone open.

“Wanted to make sure you got your cart.”

“Oh, so you ordered my room service.”, she said in a near-growl, “I almost shot the bellhop.”

“Not surprising. You didn’t eat when we touched down or on the plane, and I overheard One. Robicheaux was your father and he saw you. I figured you would be stressed, so I ordered you that steak dish you like, plus a big salad so you can’t say the steak isn’t healthy and toss half of it, plus they had a nice sounding tart, and a pot of tea for when you’re sitting up keeping an eye on the hall.”

“One know you did this?”

“He will when he gets the bill.”

Two grinned.

“Thank you, but next time- warn me.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I forget you and Blaine are bad-asses sometimes.”

“Thank you for taking care of me, Five.”

“Welcome. Now eat!”

“Yes, mother.”

Camille clipped the phone shut, then looked at the food. Really looked rather than trying to find the poison or the place where a bug was planted. It was a full meal, mostly nutritious, with a very delicious looking raspberry, dark chocolate tart for dessert. And she had it all to herself.

“Bon apetit a moi.”, she said as she moved to put the food on the table while double-checking the hall again.


	2. Phantoms and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team return the kidnap victim they saved, but then must face both kidnappers and Intelligence agents. Two, in particular, must face her past and deal with her nightmares. There is also some fluff. This would be very much hurt/comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Nightmares, child abuse (her father made Two|Camille train with adults who didn't hold back), PTSD, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, emotional blackmail on the part of a parent towards a child, drones, and swearing (mostly One).
> 
> Notes: Wounds are not described in any real detail, though I do mention how much some of them bleed. If you got through the movie, this will be nothing.

The handoff for Tarek was going smoothly, so far. That made Two nervous. So far, everything had gone smoothly. That never, ever boded well.

“Three, you got Tarek ready?”, came One’s voice over the radio.

“Si.”

“Good. Four, you and Two have eyes on the Uncle and Mama?”

“Yes, sir.”, Four answered.

“Five?”

“Ready to scoop everyone up, just in case.”

“Seven?”

“I’ve got eyes on all of you. Stop fidgeting, One.”

Turning, One looked to where Three sat on a bench at the nearly-empty train station, with Tarek Assaud sitting beside him. The kid still looked scared but Three was doing a pretty good job giving the kid little pep talks to reassure him they were bringing him home to his mama and her brother. He looked up to where Two and Four were up on the third level balcony on the train station, watching the parking area that Mama and Uncle were entering from.

“90 seconds, One.”, Two warned over the radio.

“Alright, Three. Get up, start moving for the fountain to the South.”

Three gestured as he spoke to the kid, and both stood and headed for the beautiful horse-themed fountain. It was the designated meeting place they had agreed on with Mrs.Assaud. A few seconds later, Mrs.Assaud and her brother stepped into the main lobby. They quickly spotted Tarek. Both moved swiftly towards the boy. Three smiled at them, checking with One for the nod before stepping back to allow the family reunion a little space.

Everyone who had a view, took a chance to glance down at the mother and son, reunited. She was hugging the kid so tightly that One was waiting for the kid’s head to pop off. His uncle held a hand over the boy’s shoulder, smiling with teary eyes. It was good to see a family who genuinely seemed to care for one another.

“Alright, Three. Think you can back off now.”

“Sure.”

One pulled out his phone, seeing the uncle picking up his cell.

“Mr.Roushe, I would suggest you take your sister and your nephew away now. Keep them close for a while.”

“Thank you. All of you. Thank you.”

“Just get them out of here. We’ve still got some work to do with Haslow.”

“Understood.”

The Uncle put his phone away and said something to his sister and nephew, before the two allowed him to usher them away, to his waiting car. One glanced up to see a peculiar look on Two’s face. He wondered if she also felt things were going too-well.

The family had driven far enough away that the team began to reconvene when the crap finally hit the fan. Agent Robicheaux and three other agents burst onto the scene before Seven got a chance to warn them as he’d left his nest.

“Boss, what do we do?”, Four asked, panic in his voice.

“We book it. Three, you’ve got Two and Four. Five, me and Seven are coming.”

“Engine’s hot!”, she yelled into her comm.

One ran up the back steps to join Seven, who was coming around the side of the building. Thankfully, Robicheaux and his guys hadn’t seen anyone except Two, Three, and Four, so One, Five, and Seven were probably assumed to be civilians since facial scans would not have turned up anything hinky. One had made sure of that, given their current issue with the spook.

Robicheaux’s one man stopped One, giving him a close looking at. The man’s breath smelled of onion and grease, turning One’s stomach a bit. It was too damn early for this.

“Where you headed to?”, the man asked in a growl.

“I missed my train!”, One said with as much paniced-tourist as he could manage.

“I just… I just missed my train. I’m not doing anything! I promise!”

The agent let go of One’s shirt, shoving him away.

“Clear out. We’ve official business.”

One nodded, making a show of stumbling before truly taking off in a run. He found Seven just outside, gun ready to have charged in.

“We good?”

“Not even fucking close.”, One groused as they sprinted down the steps towards Five in the waiting red car.

“Get in! Get in!”, she called as she leaned to open the passenger door.

“Where are the others? Did you see them leave?”, she asked as Seven settled into the back and One worked to fold himself into the short front seat.

“Three had a car waiting out back, they should be there by now.”

Five pulled up her radio.

“Three, tell me you got Two and Four?”

“I got Four. Two’s stuck on the balcony. She couldn’t make the jump Four did.”

“SHIT!”, One swore for them all to hear.

Seven reached, pulling Five’s radio back for him to use.

“Three?”

“Yeah?”

“Come around the south side, make sure to make some noise. We’ll get Two.”

“You sure?”

“Just do it!”

Giving the radio back, Seven moved out of the back seat and gestured for Five to trade with him.

“What are we doing?”, she asked.

Seven turned the vehicle around and made like he was leaving except at the last second he turned to head down the back lane towards the rear of the train station. They heard Three as he was making donuts and shot gravel all over the three vehicles Robicheaux and his guys had brought.

“Two, you see the red car?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna park it just below you. Jump, tuck, and roll.”

“Got it.”

Five’s eyes went wide.

“She’s on the third floor balcony!”

“She’s got this.”, One assured Five, even though he thought this was a little too much like something Four would do and not at all a thing Two would do. Yet, she had acrobatic training enough to have kept her from going out with the water back when they got Murat.

Seven manuvered the car, then put it into park.

“Now.”, he called on the comm.

Five held her head out the window and One watched using the reflections on the train station windows. Two moved to the edge of her balcony and moved one leg, then the other over the railing, gripping the handle. Then, with a small hop, her legs were free and she flew free, twisting, and landing on the second-floor balcony in a tuck and roll. There were no first-floor balconies and the second-floor ones were a good 24ft off the ground. Two came back up, using a similar technique to come off this balcony, but this time landing on the top of the car and rolling off of it, onto the grassy area behind them.

Five opened her mouth to say something just as Two popped back up and came around to climb in behind Seven. Two shot Five a wink and patted Seven’s shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“I got you.”

They were interrupted by gunfire. Several shots hitting the back edge of the little red car before Seven peeled off and Agent Robicheaux shoved two of his men over the little hillside, shouting at them. It was likely that either he had recognized Camille and didn’t want his men to kill his daughter, or he worried Tarek was with them and that killing a Canadian-American citizen would not go over very well with the brass back home.

Once they were out of range, they came to where Three and Four were waiting in the old pickup with a cap over the bed. Four would have already changed the plates like One had told him to do at the rendezvous. This was, no one would easily track them.

Everyone got out and Four moved up into the bed of the truck. Five followed suite. Seven and One moved to get the supplies out of the back of the truck, turning and lighting the little red car on fire. It would keep anyone from lifting prints or hair, with the heat from the fire and the two smaller detonations One placed that were set to timers.

Three looked Two over, before offering her a hand to help her up into the back with Five and Four. She got up without his help and One moved to get in with Four and the ladies. He had no desire to watch Three looking worried, hurt, and confused or have Seven asking him questions. They could ride up together.

~^~^~^~^~

Camille attempted the lesson again. Her instructor, Ken, avoided her block and punched her. Hard. She fell back, the air knocked from her lungs. Camille fought for breath.

“How many times must I tell you. You need to anticipate what your opponent will do and not telegraph your next move. A blind man could have seen what you were going to do before you thought to do it, Camille.”

She coughed, still trying to catch her breath. Ken looked a bit worried, his eyes darting back and forth between his teenaged pupil and her angry father.

“Sorry.”, she rasped.

“Sorry is for losses, Camille. You haven’t lost. You’ve died. If this were a real fight, Ken would have killed you by now. Get up. Do it again.”

She moved, trying to get up. When her hand slid out from under her, Ken reached for her. Her father smacked Ken’s arm.

“No! Do not help her! That is not what I pay you for.”

“With respect, sir, she’s a child and she’s struggling. I may have hit her a bit too hard that last time.”

“That’s the only way she will learn. Step back. She’ll get up.”

Camille pushed herself up, moving to stand in position once more. Hands up, feet spread, shoulder pointed to her opponent, eyes on his. She was ready. She would stay on her feet this time.

For the rest of the day, she and Ken went back and forth. He taught her several new moves and she worked with them. She did not hit the floor again and when Ken was finally done for the day, he offered her a smile of encouragement. All her father permitted, really. Once Ken was gone, she was once more alone with her father.

Etienne Robicheaux had come from a fairly well-off family. He was polished and educated, then chose to serve his country as a spy and had been rocketing up through the ranks until ten years ago, when Camille’s mother died in an airplane crash. The French Intelligence transferred him to a different division so he was less-often away outside of the country, to allow him more ability to be there for Camille. Robicheaux saw it as a major blow to his ambitions.

“Alright. Time for you to go through your fencing exercises.”

“Yes, father.”

“Then half an hour on laps, and you can shower and take dinner up in your room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”, he pronounced with a nod.

“Next time, don’t hit the mat, or there will be consequences. Am I understood?”

“Yes.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Better. Go on. I have calls to make.”

She nodded, take two steps backward before turning and walking away. She waited till she was safely in the closet to get her fencing gear, before she checked her chest. She had a bruise from Ken’s fist, just above her left breast. It hurt pretty badly but not as badly as the cut from her sword master last month, when she had been too slow and he caught her right thigh with the edge of his blade.

Camille quickly readied her gear and moved back out into the gym her father had converted the small ballroom into. She took her stance and began her exercises. She kept to her time and kept her posture perfect. There was no telling when her father would pop his head in or check on the security feed, to ensure she was doing her work as instructed. Etienne Robicheaux expected no less than perfection and Camille refused to be a disappointment.

~^~^~^~^~

Two looked over as Seven and Five leaned on each other, sipping their ice-cold beers, listening to Four’s story with keen interest. Four’s arms gestured wildly as he recounted one of his more exciting stories for them. They had been back to the graveyard for a few hours and One was busy working on the plot against Haslow.

Three had opted to take a long shower upon returning, the time on the plane ride home having left him tense and sweaty. Two suspected that Javier wanted some time to think and to calm down a bit, before rejoining the rest of them. Whenever they almost lost a member or Javier thought One was going to leave someone behind, he got a bit… odd. Upon returning to the graveyard, he would be a bit distant and quiet.

Billy launched into another story as One came back looking sour. Not that such an expression was novel on the man. Amelia and Blaine noticed before Billy did, though Billy’s expression soon mirrored their boss’s.

“Alright kids, listen up. Where’s Three?”

“Shower.”, Two answered.

“Fine. You can fill him in later. Wheels up at 0700 tomorrow. Haslow is at his estate in Italy. We’re going to clear out his team. They’ve already started working on a plan to get Tarek back and we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Alright, boss.”, Four added with a nod, already getting up and leaving.

Five and Seven both nodded, starting to get up before Seven asked a question.

“Do I need to bring Eleanore?”

Two recognized the name. That was his particularly good, very long range rifle.

“Bring ‘re.”

Seven nodded. The man reached, Five taking his hand before the pair walked off towards Five’s trailer. Two stood, gathering her drink and blanket when she heard One call her.

“Two?”

“Yeah.”

“Robicheaux is also en route. We’ll beat him there, but we won’t have time to clean up before he arrives.”

“Understood.”

She headed off, walking back towards her own trailer. She was aware One was staring after her for a bit, yet she chose to ignore it. If he had something to say, he would say it. The fact that he was keeping quiet meant whatever he was thinking, he hadn’t decided to speak on it just yet.

She had barely gotten into the kitchen of her little trailer, about to prepare a kettle for some tea when she heard Three at the door. He knew the combination and unlocked it, coming inside with a small box in his hand.

“We’re wheels up at 7AM to Italy, to take down Haslow before he can get Tarek again, as he’s planning. Robicheaux will be right behind us.”, she said as she placed the kettle onto the stove top.

He nodded. Two heard as he approached her and placed the little box on the counter next to her stove.

“What’s this?”

He smiled slightly.

“Open it. Won’t bite, I promise.”

She looked between Javier and the box again. It was about the height and width of a Hallmark card, but stood about an inch deep. Cardboard with a little dark pink paper covering the lid and a small silver and white bow.

“Why did you get me something?”

“It was your birthday yesterday. I knew you would not want a fuss made, but I couldn’t let the occasion go by uncelebrated.”

She eyed him. From what he had said to her, birthdays in his family had been a big deal. Lots of family, friends, and even neighbors invited over, loads of food, candy and treats, and singing. Camille eyed the box. She wanted to open it, yet at the same time, birthday presents were not something she had a good history with.

“Is it lingerie?”

His smile widened a bit, pinking up his cheeks a little. The sparkle of his eyes told her it was nothing to do with sex. It was probably something sentimental, like the rosary made with glass that Blaine had gotten a couple months back for Amelia. It had come from the same town Amelia’s mother was from, back in Puerto Rico.

Camille reached, picking the box up. It was lighter than she expected. She had almost expected a slight whiff of chocolate. Now her curiosity was piqued.

Javier leaned back against the counter, his hands resting on either side of his thighs, watching her. She gently turned the box over, half-expecting to find a price tag, label, or logo from whatever company produced the item. She found none of those things, just a note in Javier’s own handwriting, in Spanish. It translated to, ‘Nice try, sweetheart’.

Camille narrowed her eyes at the gift. She could hear Javier trying to hold back a chuckle. Retrieving a knife, Camille carefully sliced the two pieces of tape holding the lid to the bottom of the little box. With the delicacy she would use when handling a bomb, she removed the lid and set it aside.

Two layers of white giftwrap hid the gift, almost making Camille growl. Anticipation was not something she was a fan of. Nor did she like surprises. She eased the paper out of the way to find a picture frame inside. It had a picture of Camille with Javier’s mother. Neither of them were looking at the camera, they had just parted from hugging and were smiling at each other, Camille with flowers still in one hand, his mother’s eyes sparkling with a rare moment of clarity.

She heard Javier moving closer, though still giving her some space. Camille put the gift back on the counter, letting out a slow breath. One did not allow photos. Ever. Javier must have had one of the nuns help him get a photo.

“You can put a different photo in, if you like. That was the only thing I had to put into the frame, so I used it.”

Camille traced the frame with her middle finger, feeling the grooves and etching that made the frame look as if it were waves crashing. She had always loved the ocean. Ever since she could remember, the sound of the waves had always been one of the most calming sounds she could recall hearing, even the smell of the sea was enough to ease her nerves or sooth her anger.

“Do you not like it?”

She had to fight to find the words, then put them in English.

“How did our picture?”

“I asked one of the nuns to take it for me. You both looked so happy, when she gave me the picture she took, I could not look away from it. I can’t remember the last time she looked that happy and you… you looked so peaceful. Like you do when we’re near the ocean for a job and you wake up before dawn, open the windows, then come back to bed to listen to the waves.”

“I like it.”

Javier’s posture relaxed, his smile going up to a ten.

“One will kill you if he sees this.”

“It would be worth it.”

She turned to him, a bit blown away.

“Thank you.”

He leaned, kissing her.

“Feliz cumpleanos mi amor.”, he whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

~^~^~^~^~

The ride to Italy had been pretty peaceful, aside from Three’s usual freak out. Because Seven had introduced Four and Three to THE A-TEAM on some discount cable channel, Three had earned himself a new nickname just as Four and One had. Three was now B.A. because of his fear of flying and his ability to beat people up, Four was Mad Murdock for just as obvious reasoning, and One was Hannibal. It seemed they had not decided who would be Face, considering One, Seven, Two, and Five had all served that purpose at one point or another.

A few hours later, they were outside of Haslow’s villa. A fortress really. A poorly thought out fortress. There was only one access point, which meant once they were in, Haslow had no route for escape. He had guards were stationed at predictable points, his backup generator was barely defended, and it was a peace of cake for One to handle the hardline phone as well as the satellite one.

Four was supposed to get into the computer room and make a copy of everything before wiping the whole system. Five was to stick below Seven to make sure no one got the jump on their sniper. Three and One were supposed to go for Haslow, while Two had their backs. Simple. One meant to scare Haslow off and use the information they would steal from his computers, to be able to help them track down and deal with some of his associates. People as evil as Rovach in Uzbekistan.

Two knew it wasn’t going according to plan when she heard a scream, followed by two shots and One’s cursing. She chanced sticking her head into the office where Three and One were supposed to be handling Haslow, to find One bleeding on the floor, Haslow dead in his chair, and Three holding a bloody knife.

“What the hell happened?”, she hissed.

“Motherfucker shot me!”, One shouted as he moved up onto his knees.

Three wiped the knife off on Haslow’s shoulder, before sliding it back into his thigh holster for it and moving to One’s side.

“I got you, boss.”

One groaned as Three helped him onto his feet.

“Alright, let’s get out of here before Robicheaux’s team shows up.”

“Too late for that, One.”, they heard Seven over their comms.

“SHIT!”, One spat.

“Three, get him to the car. I’ll cover.”, Two ordered, before pressing her comm to talk to the rest of the team.

“Four, get out of there and come help Three with One. Seven, you and Five head out. I’ve got you covered, but you’ll need to make sure everyone can get to the truck.”

Three looked up at her, concern all over his face.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Now go!”

She grabbed up several guns from Haslow’s office and headed out. Moving swiftly but silently, she slid over to the Control booth. Haslow had spared no expense on his electronics. Every square inch of the place was under cameras, even the bathrooms and the closets had cameras in them pointed at the doors.

She watched as Agent Robicheaux and his nine guys filed in. They must have given him a bump at the agency in order for him to have such a large team out in the field. Judging from the look of them, three were brand new, the rest had a few years but were all trained by the same guy. It wouldn’t be terribly hard to keep them distracted.

Two moved over to where the control was for the two dozen drones that were part of Haslow’s security. She hit a button to bring the first 6 to life. She sent them in from the same direction Robicheaux and his team were about to infiltrate from. All six lit up his team with red laser points. That got them to all freeze. The whole team.

She pulled out another six, then she turned on the yard sprinklers. The whole team was soaked in under a minute and none of their weapons were rated for working while wet. Some would still work just fine, the shotguns and rifles wouldn’t. Moving in sodden Kevlar was also not fun, and with squeaking boots, they wouldn’t be sneaking up on anybody. Least of all Two.

Next, Two brought up the rest of the drones. All 24 were now keeping track of Robicheaux and his team. She couldn’t use the loud speaker to tell them to leave, without risking her father hearing her voice and knowing for sure she was in the villa alone to cover for her team. Two checked. Haslow was idiot enough for his house to be wired with a system to call the actual fire department if there was a smoke alarm going off. He didn’t have a private or automated system for that.

Two ran over to the office, grabbing the matches Haslow used for his cigars. She ran over to a smoke alarm, struck one match, lit the whole packet, and held it under the detector. It took three seconds for it to begin screeching and for the water to start coming down from the sprinkler system. Metal cases loudly latched into place over the expensive artwork throughout the building, plexiglass locked into place over windows as the air system shut off to limit the airflow. Apparently Haslow had not been a complete idiot.

Moving quickly, Two headed off down a hall. She had a hunting rifle meant for using in damp conditions, making her way down the halls, heading towards her team. By now, Robicheaux must have realized that the drones were just that and his team would be on the move. Two listened for their boots to avoid running into them.

She had cleared most of the building and was exiting through the kitchen when she heard it. The movement of wet cloth. Turning, she saw Etienne Robicheaux as he stepped into the opposite side of the kitchen. His shoes and socks were gone, as was his Kevlar tactical vest. His pistol was aimed for her chest and her rifle was aimed for his neck.

“Cammie?”

“Etienne.”

“They told me you were dead.”, he said in heavily accented English. He must have been more upset than she would have thought, for his accent to be so thick.

“I am.”

“Look quite lively for a dead agent.”

“Agent Camille Robicheaux died in Afghanistan, almost three years ago.”

“Then who are you supposed to be?”

“A ghost.”

“Come on in. We don’t have to fight.”

Two took in her surroundings. Kitchen knives were on the other side of the room, along with the pots and pans. Neither of them had a vest, her team were too far away to help her with no window for Seven to use to get a bead on Robicheaux. Then she noticed something. On the floor, behind the counter so Robicheaux could not see but within her reach if she dropped, was a single knife. Small, probably meant for cleaning up little fish.

“Robicheaux, drop your gun and I will drop mine.”

“You first, dear.”

She shook her head slightly without taking her eyes off of him.

“Where’s Haslow?”

“Dead.”

“We wanted him for questioning and trial.”

“He tried to shoot me so I shot him.”

“What about your team?”

“What team?”

“This isn’t the work of one person, and Tarek’s handoff last week was definitely not the work of a single operative. We saw someone in a truck, and someone else in a little red car scooped you up out the back. That’s three people, minimum.”

“Temporary team. Today was all me.”

“This does’t look like you.”

“I’ve learned some new tricks since I died.”

“I’ll count to three.”

That meant she had till the count of two.

“One.”

She breathed.

“Two.”

Both of them fired. Camille dropped, her side on fire as she heard Robicheaux screaming. She had hit him in the chest, he grazed her side. Camille made no sound. Gently taking the knife, she waited. Her father kept screaming like a stuck pig and so she moved onto her hands and knees, crawling out. Thankfully, the kitchen’s back door was hanging open and Two could crawl through it without making a sound.

Two arms grabbed her and she struck, trying to slice whomever had dared come at her. A firm hand gripped her wrist.

“It’s me!”, a familiar whisper.

Two looked. It was Four. Turning her head, she saw Three behind a pillar with a statuette atop it, holding a rifle. He gave a one-fingered wave to let her know he saw her. Four spoke up in a whisper.

“Follow me. Three’s got us covered.”

She let Four help her speed over towards the truck where One, Five, and Seven waited. Several steps later, she heard Three coming up behind them as they dashed towards the vehicle. Seven sped off, once they were inside, barely waiting for Three to close the door behind them.

Five and One were in the back, with Five up to her elbows in One’s blood. She gasped when she saw Two’s side.

“What happened?”

“Shot.”

“No shit, but how?”

Two waved her off. Four was riding up front with Seven, and Three had moved to sit next to Two. He was still holding a gun in his one hand, watching out the window, but his free hand moved to hold hers, giving it a light squeeze. Once they were out of sight of the villa, he leaned closer.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded.

“It’s a graze. One’s is much worse.”

~^~^~^~^~^~^~

They all checked into another hotel, this time in Florence. They had planned to rest the night before flying out on the small get One arranged for them. Due to she and One’s injuries, Five made an executive decision that they were staying over an extra day. Seven, Four, and Three backed her, so One wisely chose not to push it.

Three had checked them in as a married couple, Mr. and Mrs.Marquez. One and Four checked in together, with Four sporting a shiner from an accident the day before they left and One walking gingerly due to his being shot by Haslow, their story if anyone asked was a bachelor party gone wild. Blaine and Amelia checked in as Mr. and Mrs.Marshall. Amelia had insisted they all get rooms close enough together that she could easily check on her two ‘patients’ from their gunshot wounds.

Once Amelia had assured him that One would survive and Camille would be alright, he had been able to relax. He let Camille have the first shower, and she was quick before she moved to sit near the window with some tea and wait for him to get out of the shower. They had quietly gone about their nightly routines as if this were just another Thursday.

Three slipped off to sleep easily enough. He had probably exhausted himself worrying about she and One, then running around with Four to try to come in for her and cover her. Two, however, fought for her sleep. Her mind raced and her side ached.

Two had hoped for a dreamless sleep as she finally faded off. Camille walked down the hall towards the training room. She knew it well. Her hand reached, wrapped for kickboxing practice with her instructor, Harris. However, Camille opened her door to find her father waiting.

“Camille, I expect perfection today. You have been practicing long enough.”

Instead of Harris, is was the menace she remembered. A former agent her father knew, who had no issue fighting against a 13-year-old, full tilt. If he broke her bones it was tough luck for her and no remorse from him. She never knew his name. Her father never used it and the menace never introduced himself.

Her father looked between she and the menace then back to Camille. She felt sick. On a good day, her father expected perfection. With her IQ, her aptitude scores, and her natural athleticism, he had been assured she would be a perfect instrument. He once told her it was all to make sure she was safe. She was the daughter of wealth, privilege, and with a father in government work who knew many secrets. She would have a target painted on her back all her life, he was sure.

Before her mother’s death, her father had been hands-off and allowed his wife to dictate Camille’s daily activities. When she died and he was reassigned to a less travel-ridden position, he became determined to turn Camille into a walking, thinking weapon. And he made no secret of the fact he expected her to fallow in his footsteps and to exceed his accomplishments.

The menace squared off and soon they were fighting. Kickboxing, krav maga, no holes barred, whatever worked, and prison rules were all acceptable to him. They went at each other, full tilt. Neither held back.

Her father called out instructions and reprimands to Camille frequently. He was not pleased with her speed or her lack of meaningful blows made to the menace. The menace’s arms were so long and his punches so hard, Camille had hardly landed a shot to his center and barely took his leg out from under him at last.

Each in their corners, panting for breath, they awaited Robicheaux’s signal for them to begin again. They went round after round. Camille felt herself tiring, her focus slipping as her head spun and her lungs burned. Finally, her father had the menace step aside and he tossed Camille a knife. She looked. Her father already had his own.

She remembered this fight. The point was to prove that you could not give up, that you must always be prepared even when your body was ready to quit. He came at her, leaving a slice in her shirt. They went at each other once more, Camille leaving a small cut on her father’s arm. It healed instantly.

Again, Camille cut him and again it healed in a blink of an eye. The cuts he made were deeper each time and, unlike her father’s, Camille’s did not heal. She felt herself growing more tired with every strike she made and every blow her father landed. Soon, she was on her knees, her arms and thighs covered in cuts, tears streaming down her face, every muscle quaking.

“I will give you one more chance.”, her father bellowed as he walked away.

The menace reappeared, looking refreshed and ready to fight in an MMA ring. Her father dragged someone behind him, their hands bound behind their back and their ankles tied together, with a hood over their head. Robicheaux flung the bound man to the ground and Camille heard the man groan. She knew that voice.

Before she could ask, her father removed the hood to reveal Javier. He was bloody and bruised all over. Yet, Javier smiled at her tiredly.

“You will have one chance for a perfectly executed fight or you will watch me execute loverboy here. Your choice. Now, get on your feet and take up your task, Cammie.”

Camille forced herself to her feet. The menace loomed over her, nearly seven feet tall now. In the back of her mind, Camille knew something was not right about this. She was missing something or reading something wrong. The menace took the first swing.

It did not take long before Camille was on her back, spitting blood from a hit to the face. The menace chuckled to himself as he walked off. Her father growled.

“Get up!”

“No.”

“GET! UP!”

She rolled onto her side, barely able to push herself onto her knees, her one arm too shaky to hold her up, the other barely doing the job. Raising her head to look up, she met Javier’s eyes and felt her own stinging with unshed tears. Despite knowing his fate, he offered her a smile.

Her father shook his head as he retrieved his pistol. Camille begged him to stop. He refused, hauling Javier up onto his knees.

“Please? Please? Father, I will get it right. Let me clean the mess off my face and I promise. I’ll do it. I’ll get it right, please? Please?”

“No, Cammie. You had your chance and you failed.”

“Please? Father, I’ll do anything? Anything? Please, please?”

There was a bang and Camille screamed. She screamed and fought. She had to get to Javier.

Two arms held her firm as Camille fought to get to Javier. She had to get to him!

“Camille? Camille? Mi amore, Camille?”

She stilled, looking around. She was not in the practice room. She was not covered in wounds. The menace and her father were nowhere to be seen.

“Camille?”

She turned. Javier were there. Alive and uninjured. Perfectly alive and well, his dark eyes worried, two warm hands on her waist.

“Javier?”

He nodded.

“I’m here, right here. I’m here.”

“There’s no blood.”

His hand moved to push the sweaty hair from her face.

“No blood. We’re safe. We’re alright.”

She let out a ragged breath, sinking forward to rest her ear against Javier’s chest. She could hear his heart banging out a rapid-fire beat. One hand gently moved up and down her back, attempting to ease her panting breath and her racing heart. His other hand moved to his phone, texting someone quickly.

“Who are you texting?”

“One and Five. Someone might investigate the screaming.”

She nodded.

“Hand me the phone.”

He gave her the cell, but she gestured for the house phone at the bedside table on his side of the bed. Javier leaned back, allowing her to stay kneeling in the middle of the bed, as Javier got the phone. He seemed to know what she wanted, hitting the button to call down to the front desk.

“Yes ma’am?”, a man with a Belgian accent answered.

“This is Mrs.Marquez in 4B. I may have disturbed the peace a bit, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, we’ve already sent someone up to check in on you, ma’am.”

“It’s alright. I don’t need checking up on.”

“We had several calls from people next to you, across from you, as well as above and below your room, ma’am. The management must see to it that you are unharmed.”

“Alright.”

Camille handed Javier the phone back and he placed it into the cradle. For a long moment, neither spoke. Javier let her have her space, though he kept place, Camille kneeing sideways in the V of his legs. A knock at the door drew their attention.

“I’ll get it.”

“No.”, Camille said, “They’ll need to see me before they’ll leave us alone.”

When she opened the door, she found Amelia already standing there, with the manager.

“I tried to explain to him that you sometimes have nightmares after your accident.”

Camille caught on. When they first started traveling, Amelia sometimes had nightmares and so did Billy. Their agreed-upon cover story for anyone who heard it, was that the person who had screamed, had been in a car accident and night and sometimes had flashbacks and nightmares, and when they woke in the dark, they would scream as they did not realize where they were.

“Sorry, sir. My friend is right. I was in a car accident some months ago and… I’m afraid it has left me somewhat addled and with terrible nightmares. I had not had one in quite some time, and had thought I was past them. My apologies to everyone I’ve disturbed. Please, if our neighbors have asked, you have my permission to tell them what I’ve told you.”

The manager, a man in his upper 40s with kind gray eyes, nodded, looking rather flustered.

“I am sorry, ma’am. We had so many calls, I was required to check on your safety.”

She nodded, making sure she seemed like a normal housewife in an awkward situation.

“Thank you, sir. If it’s alright, I was going to take a shower to clear my head and maybe watch some television until my husband is ready for us to check out.”

“Alright, ma’am. If you are sure you are well and that you are not in need of any assistance?”

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

“I’ll stay with her for a bit.”, Amelia offered to the man as she moved to Camille’s side.

“That will do. Thank you.”, he said with a nod, “Goodnight, ladies.”

“Goodnight.”, they both offered before moving back into the room.

Javier stood, a glass of water in hand that he offered to Camille.

“Let me check your stitches.”

Amelia tugged Camille along to the bathroom. Camille made no objections, allowing Amelia to pull up Camille’s silken nightgown to find, miraculously, Camille had managed not to pop or tear a stitch with all her thrashing around in the bed earlier. Satisfied, Amelia hugged Camille and reminded her to call if she needed anything, before heading back to Blaine.

Camille came out to find Javier texting. She read over his shoulder before returning her glass to the table. He was letting One and Billy know Camille was alright and that she, and Amelia, had gotten the manager taken care of. Camille, now that her adrenaline from the dream was shot, felt as if she had run two marathons with lead weights attached to her thighs.

Javier came to her side, slowly moving to wrap an arm around the small of her back, his one hand resting over her hip on her uninjured side. Camille allowed herself to lean into his side a bit.

“Are you alright, mi amore?”

She nodded.

“A nightmare. Nothing more.”

“You screamed my name and were begging someone to let you try again. That you would be perfect.”

“I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“I know.”

She took a couple shaky breaths.

“My father had me fighting the one person I couldn’t win every match against, then once he had torn me apart, my father stepped in. We fought with knives. His wounds would heal, mine would bleed. He dragged you in, tied up and beaten, and told me if I did not win the fight to his satisfaction against my tormentor, that he would execute you. I lost the fight. Badly.”

She could not talk about the rest. She simply couldn’t. Javier seemed to understand.

Ever so gently and with a slowless to make sure he did not spook her, Javier moved to pull her a bit closer. Then, just as gently, steered her back to the bed. They got in, Javier between Camille and the door, as always. He laid back, letting her curl into his side, resting her head on his chest. She did not care for spooning, even when she was not feeling claustrophobic in the wake of a nightmare. Javier knew this and knew she felt spooning her would mean putting his back to the door or letting her lay between him and the door.

She felt him press his lips to her forehead, his bread tickling her skin slightly. Camille smiled. Once more, Javier’s hand moved up and down her back in a regular rhythm, meant to still her panic and relax her breathing to an acceptable, healthy rate.

“I can’t sleep, Javier.”

“I know.”

“You can.”

“Already did.”

“You don’t need to stay up with me.”

“I know.”

“But you will anyway?”

He turned his head, his nose resting against the top of her head.

“I’ve got you, amore.”

She smiled into his chest, watching the mirror to look out the window of their hotel room. Aside from her nightmare, it was a peaceful night. She could almost hear a band playing something in the distance.

“Too bad we didn’t stay in Venice.”

“Why?”, she asked.

“I could have opened the windows for you to hear the ocean.”

Her smile widened.

“Thank you.”


End file.
